Quenton Baker, Self-Portrait by Quenton Baker

I’ll take a selfie
like eclipse, like

a wretch wrestling the dark.

Don’t let your yearning drift
inside the reasons for my casket.

Need me alive. Greed
toward gathering breath

because air is shoved
underneath and pressed
between every brick
avenue thoroughfare.

Whisper or wail, I work
even the tiniest vibration against this
dynastic rule.

No one gets tired
of forgetting. So I

heave what’s left
against
violence,
erasure. Now,
tear open the long
bag of shadow.

Offer yourself to me.

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